Free When the Tripods Came by John Christopher Page B

close to the village, and he couldn’t risk leaving the children or his ailing mother. Martha did her best to look frail; fortunately the light wasn’t good.
    The sergeant got more friendly after that. He said it was lucky Pa’s aunt lived on this side of the river; things were bad on the other bank, and they’d lost contact with Exmouth. There were reports, too, that Capped tanks were on the move from Dartmoor—towards Plymouth probably, but they might swing this way. Pa said we’d get home as soon as possible, and dig in. It couldn’t last long, could it?
    The sergeant was a tall bony man with a Falklands ribbon.
    He said, “My grandfather used to talk about the 1914 War. They told him it would be over by Christmas and he was four years out there.” He shook his head. “And at least they could tell who the enemy was.”
    The weather had turned wintry, and by the time we reached the mooring, just after nine, sleet was driving in from the west. The tide was high—thathad been another reason for an early start—and boats jerked and bobbed on their lines. When we left the car’s warmth, the wind bit sharply.
    We got the rubber dinghy off the roof and put on the outboard.
    Pa said, “Laurie and me first, and then I’ll leave him in charge of ferrying while I check things inboard. OK?”
    Martha stayed behind until last, organizing gear. Andy gave her a hand on board, though she didn’t really need it. She didn’t move like a grandmother.
    She asked Pa, “Everything all right?”
    He nodded. “Good job I filled the tanks last time. We don’t know who’ll be running the filling station.”
    “I don’t suppose you got a forecast?”
    “As a matter of fact, I did. A normal weather report, and not a single hail for the Tripod. Cold front passing through with more sleet and rain, snow on high ground. Winds west to southwest, force, five to seven.”
    “Just as well the tanks are full. Sounds stiff for sail.”
    They spoke lightly but I realized they weren’t relishing the voyage ahead. We would never normally have set out even for a trip along the coast with a prospect of near-gale-force winds.
    Martha said, “No point in waiting. I’ll get some food going in the galley.”
    Nothing else was moving on this stretch, not surprisingly, in view of the weather. Sleet drove hardagainst the glass of the conning deck. Exmouth came up on the port side, a jumble of wet gray roofs. I saw something else—two figures in coast guard oilskins on the jetty. I nudged Pa.
    “I know,” he said.
    One was signaling to us. The other lifted a bullhorn, and a voice boomed across the choppy water, “Come in, Edelweiss. Come in, Edelweiss.”
    Pa throttled the engines and we surged ahead, rocking violently. The voice was still shouting, more faintly as we drove out to sea.
    Andy said, “Do you think they’ll send a cutter after us?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Pa felt in his pocket for a cigarette, and then a match. I was surprised he was carrying them—he’d given up smoking a year before. He lit up and drew heavily on it.
    “I’d like to tell you a story, Andy—Laurie knows it. Not long after Martha got the Jaguar she took us over to Honiton. It was summer and the main roads were packed, so she used minor roads. They were busy, too, and there was a bend every couple of hundred yards. It was pretty frustrating progress, especially in a car like that. Then, beyond Plymtree, there was a bit of open road with just three cars dawdling ahead of us. She put her foot down. We were doing over eighty when she passed the last of the three and realized what had been keeping the other two back: it was a low-slung police car.
    “If I’d been driving I’d have braked and waited tobe pulled up and given a verbal going-over. Martha put her foot right down. They chased her, but she’s a good driver and she had the edge, with that engine. She lost them long before Cheriton.”
    Andy said, “Didn’t they do anything about it? They must